Only three more days until I go home. I'm getting really homesick. I just can't wait to get a deep breath of fresh pine air.

( Pics of Maine )

Happy Friday, all!

Here is a good article on manuscript submission:

A few weeks ago I posted here that my reading time had decreased. Turns out it's my patience that has worn thin. I used to devour even bad books fairly quickly. I've grown pickier with time, and, yes, slower, but not so much as I thought. It recently took me three weeks to get through a book that I didn't care for. I should have thrown in the towel already, but there were some good reviews, so I kept plugging away, hoping it would get better. Not to say the book didn't have meritsl; it was well-researched, and it was, from a grammar point of view, well-written. However, it was lacking a plot. Entirely. So I forced myself through it, and in the end I think I skimmed most of the last 50 pages or so. Then a few days ago, I read two good books in one day. Read a third the next day.

I guess I just don't have time to waste on bad books. I really don't. Life is too short. I wish every book out there was capable of completely sucking me in, but that isn't the case. I've got quite a few on my shelves I haven't read yet, but I think I will be going through them fast. I need to save money and get a cushion under me, which means my entertainment has to stay on the cheap side. And you can't get cheaper than reading.

Anyway, I seem to be on a bit of a ballet/dance fiction kick at the moment. Any recommendations?

Next week I will be in Maine, curled up in a deck chair at my friend's place in the forest with a good book (I can always raid Angie's shelves if my picks don't pan out) and the smell of pine in my lungs. I can't wait :)

Just when you think you've heard it all ....

This was over at the cat_macros community ... irresistable!

 

 

So I got a copy of Robert Kirk's THE SECRET COMMONWEALTH OF ELVES, FAUNS & FAIRIES, a manuscript from 1691 that is somewhat of a enigma; it's basically a treatise on the supernatural. So far it's fascinating, though I don't much care for the snide tone of parts of  the forward in the copy I have. (The text is available at www.forgottenbooks.org for any of you who would like to take a peek.) But I'm having a bit of an issue reading it. Apparently, in the handwritten original, all of the scribe's S's look like F's. Maybe everyone's did, who knows? It's hard enough for me to read old English; in cases where word spellings have changed, my brain registers the old spelling as an error, and the editor in me takes a second to get annoyed and flip out before moving on.  I can usually get used to that pretty quickly. However, in this case, even though you can tell the words are supposed to have 'S's' in them, whoever typeset it left them as F's.  It'f like reading fomeone who ftutterf - very fruftrating. 

Ah, well. Good things don't come easy. It may even work out better, as it's really slowing me down and forcing me to dwell a bit more, rather than suck the whole book in at once. 






 

I'm not sure exactly how, or why, but I seem to have suddenly developed a green thumb. And an obsession with roses. It's a bit odd; I never did all that well with plants before. Now I'm addicted. Seriously. I am afraid my neighbors will start calling me 'Crazy Rose Girl.' I can't explain this sudden obsession. Maybe it has something to do with turning 35. Maybe I don't like feeling disconnected from nature. Maybe I just want more beauty in my world. I've gotten a ton of roses, in all different colors. So far most of them aren't blooming, but I like the idea that they will bloom in a kaleidoscope manner ... the colors on my patio will hopefully- constantly change as different ones bloom and fade. I've also got a little herb garden, and some girlie/pretty flowers, pentas and African violets and such. I've found some cool seed mixes with names like 'Ambrosia Mix' and 'Aphrodite mix,' a black flower collection, moonflowers (they bloom at night), and a black devil flower. I've found some cool planters and birdcages to hang some of them in. I'm hoping to attract butterflies and hummingbirds, but we'll see. I've got a bit of an overgrown/Secret Garden thing going on. I want my garden to look a bit wild, a bit Victorian, a bit gothic.

So far nothing has died. I can't help wondering if it's because now I care whether my plants grow.

I'm trying to do this organically. Next week I'm getting a bunch of ladybugs to help with pest control, and I'm going to see if I can actually buy some of those little lizards too. You know, I used to see those lizards EVERYWHERE. Now, I rarely see them at all.

Hmm. It occurs to me that the lizards might eat the ladybugs. Perhaps not a good idea.

The parade of cats I was wondering about a few entries backs has finally revealed their purpose, and now I know why the universe sent them to me :) They keep the squirrels from eating my roses. I looked out the other day, and there were two squirrels on the roof, eyeing the roses, and the big fat fluffy Sylvester-looking stray --whom I am tempted to name Penguin-- was lying in the sun on the patio rail. The squirrels fled.

Finally managed to track down THE RENEGADES, an old TV series that has been haunting me since I was a kid. It was pretty obscure - it aired in the early 80's and there were only 6 episodes, but the one or two that I caught at the time really stuck in my head. I've been trying to find them for years, and just last week chanced to Google and found probably the one person on the planet that was selling them. I was a little leery at first, as I wasn't sure if they had aged well, or if I would be completely embarrassed that I had ever liked them. It's actually pretty cool. It's really dated now, and some of the plot points and dialogue are super-cheesy, but it's super cheesy in that fun 80's way. Two things I never expected to find - a young Patrick Swayze as a bandit (literally) and Kurtwood Something
--also known as Red from THAT 70'S SHOW-- playing a cop.

My cousin is coming from Montreal next week. I can't wait to see her. We were close growing up, but haven't seen each other much since I moved to the other end of the continent.

Napalm Death show tonight. This weekend I have a ton of cleaning to do, and then some poetry editing. I have some wine to drink, and a movie to go to (10,000 BC). There is finally an end in sight to the weekend shifts. J will be here soon.

Life is good.

PLEASE DON'T HAUL WOOD. IT BUGS ME.


What? Can anyone explain this?

Here is a link that shows some really cool stuff you can do with moss.

I like the lion, myself.

One of these days I am going to move back to Maine and make a garden with a moss labyrinth with a green man in the middle.

Judy Blume is 70 today.

I'm not moving very fast this morning. Two cups of coffee in, and I still have spiderwebs in my brain. Cabbit didn't help. After being alone last week while I was at the beach, she has been completely attention-starved and cuddly since I got back. The absolute worst thing in the morning, other than an alarm clock, is an alarm clock combined with a soft, squishy (she's getting chubby) purring cat snuggled up to you who, unlike you, does NOT have to get up, take a shower, and go to work, and who, when you reluctantly drag your ass out of bed, looks at you sleepily, blinks, yawns, and then goes right back to sleep.

How many miles to Babylon?
Three-score miles and ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes, there and back again.

For some reason this little rhyme got stuck in my head yesterday; I think the train of thought started at the YA book I used to love, CAN I GET THERE BY CANDLELIGHT? Curiousity hit. I tried to look it up online, thinking there was probably more to the rhyme than that. First several searches only turned up that first verse, but then (*angelic chorus*) I found it .... here's the rest.

How many miles to Babylon?
Three-score miles and ten.
Can I get there by candlelight?
Yes, there and back again.

Where is the road to Babylon?
Right beside your door.
Can I walk that way whenever I want?
No, three times and no more.
If you mark the road and measure it right
You can get there by candle-light.

How do I get to Babylon?
Outside of here and there.
Am I crossing a bridge or climbing a hill?
Yes, both before you're there.
If you follow outside of day and night
You can get there by candle-light.

How hard is the road to Babylon?
As hard as grief or greed.
What do I ask for when I get there?
Only for what you need.
If you travel in need and travel light
You can get there by candle-light.

How long is the road to Babylon?
Three score years and ten.
Many have gone to Babylon
But few come back again.
If your feet are nimble and light
You can get there by candle-light.

In the process, I found a neat site that lists nursery rhymes and started browsing. There are a few gems in there. Like this one ....

Cold and raw the north wind doth blow
Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winters now come fairly.

or this ...

The hart, he loves the high wood;
The hare, she loves the hill;
The knight, he loves his bright sword;
The lady loves her will.

( More behind the cut )

I watched Across the Universe last night and completely loved it. I didn't even bother renting it - I just bought it. I had a feeling it was one I'd want to own, and I was right.

I want to go to the Angel Oak Tree
This tree is just so beautiful. I've added it to my list of things to do before I die, right along with solstice at Stonehenge, Christmas in Moscow, and trips to Paris, Japan and China, especially the Great Wall.







For some reason, I've been craving raw cookie dough this morning. I think my second childhood just hit.

INFERNO, a new horror anthology edited by Ellen Datlow, is a collection of 20 stories of characters all facing their own personal hells. These are not fire-and-brimstone hells, but quieter, lonelier hells; the pain of a missing child, the violent torments of school bullies, the struggle against the murderous beast within us all. I'm not always a huge short story fan, but when they're done right, they can pack the power of a novel into a few pages, as Joyce Carol Oates does with FACE. THE MONSTERS OF HEAVEN by Nathan Ballingrud, AN APIARY OF WHITE BEES by Lee Thomas, and THE JANUS TREE by Glen Hirshberg are probably my personal favorites, but these are all good stories, and as thought-provoking as they are chilling. From fallen angels juxtaposed against today's decaying society to neopagans transforming an old wood with modern madness, to twisted updates of classical horror elements such as haunted suits of armor, restless ghosts and the dead coming back to life, INFERNO hits its stride on page one and never lets up. Many of these stories leave plenty of room for interpretation, which only adds to their power. This collection does not fade away after the last page, but settles in to haunt the subconscious, the way the best horror does. Definitely recommended.

I'm sorely tempted to buy this mirror/sconce set. It's absolutely gorgeous. Plus it comes with a free ghost :)

music: Tokyo Road - Bon Jovi

It was pitch black and pouring rain when I left the beach house this morning, and I drove through a few nasty squalls; the type where cars leave little wakes, and you can't see anything but taillights in front of you. Then it let up a bit, and the sky got all cool and hazy and reddish as dawn broke. By the time I got to the bridge, it was clear and dry and bright, and the skyscrapers on the Tampa side of the bay looked really cool in the half-cloudy, half-sunny morning light; almost as though they were glowing. Only in Florida.

The ocean keeps making me sleepy this week. I think the sound of waves is hypnotizing; it puts me into a half-trance. I've gotten some reading and a bit of writing done in my notebook -nothing too intense, just some good notes and a few poems. I haven't busted out Beowulf yet. (I'm slowly picking away at my own poetic version of Beowulf, mostly for fun, as I really don't think there would be a market for it.) Something about Beowulf and the beach just goes together - the only time I work on it is when I'm out at the beach.

Spent Imbolc on the beach. Had some wine, cheese, fruit and bread, lit some incense, watched the sea, wrote some poetry. It felt like a holiday. Sacred. I'm not a religious person. I'm not a ceremonial person. I'm spiritual, but I just don't care for the trappings or rituals or, for that matter, arguments. I am more in tune with the universe on a beach or in a forest than I ever was in a church. This is why druidry fits me so well, and why I declined an invitation to go to an Imbolc ceremony in favor of just sitting out at the beach. Was hoping the sunset yoga class would show up Sunday, but they weren't there this time.

I bought a beautiful miniature rose bush, and I am going to try not to kill it. (It will probably be dead before I finish posting this entry.) If anyone out there has had any luck with these, pointers would be more than welcome.

Saturday I'm going to see MOD. I am predicting that I will have some MOD song stuck in my head for about three days after that. Probably 'The Spandex Enormity' if they play it.

Hello and thank you for calling The State Mental Hospital

Please select from the following options menu:

If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.

If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5 and 6.

If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want, stay on theline so we can trace your call.

If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be forwarded to the Mother Ship.

If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a little voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are manic-depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press, nothing will make you happy anyway.

If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969696.

If you are bipolar, please leave a message after the beep or before the beep or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9. If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have low self-esteem, please hang up; our operators are too busy to talk with you.

If you are menopausal, put the gun down, hang up, turn on the fan, lie down and cry. You won't be crazy forever.

If you are blonde, don't press any buttons, you'll just mess it up.

music: Working for the Weekend - Loverboy

Today on the way to work I had to stop to let a family of ducks cross the road. They were so cute, and just watching the baby ducks waddling around in the rain made me smile. My grandmother used to take me to feed the ducks at Colby Pond when I was growing up; there's something relaxing about feeding them. Maybe because they're just happy being ducks.

Mom and I went to St. Augustine for the weekend. She loved it, as I knew she would. On the way there, we stopped and had a picnic at the Bok Tower, which is known as the 'singing' tower because of the carillon bells in the tower that chime every half hour. It's set in a gorgeous garden/wildlife sanctuary, with ponds and trees (and, I would imagine, ducks.) It's just very pretty and peaceful and tranquil and sooo relaxing. Which was good, because on a three-hour trip with the world's worst backseat driver, I needed a de-stressing break. I love my mom to death, but she drives me absolutely nuts at times . . . particularly when we're driving. I guess you never outgrow being a mom. It's sort of funny to see her still try to hold my hand as we're crossing the street.

I've become sort of addicted to the fitness show 'Shimmy' on FitTV. It's a bellydance workout, and it's really fun. I've never been great at choreography, just because I have a hard time remembering what to do next, but that's half the fun of dance workouts; there is a mental challenge as well as a physical one. At least, enough of one for me to stay focused. I guess I need to get some bellydance DVD's now.

Had a few lightbulb moments on lw, one of which came when I was writing the synopsis. Out of nowhere, I just sort of brainstormed another plot element that works perfectly, but had evaded me before. I put it into the synopsis, and sat there wondering why I hadn't thought of it sooner. Now I have to insert this new element into the text. Shouldn't take long; it's another layer to weave in the background, but I don't think it needs to be over-emphasized.

I guess I just have a tendency to do things backwards. Even this entry - I wrote this paragraph first, then the second, then the first.

Have finally been watching the Tudors. I'm sort of split on it. They seem to have the basics correct, but it just doesn't seem right for some reason. The actor playing Henry VIII is a good actor, but it almost seems like he played the part without getting a feel for the true Henry. He doesn't seem to look right, even for the young Henry, and he just seems too brooding. Then again, maybe I'm just prejudiced because I'm of course going to compare it to The Autobiography of Henry VIII, which really seemed to capture his essence. In any case, the series is worth watching. I'm up to episode 4.

Ah, well. Onwards and upwards, as they say.

The Bok Tower. (Photos taken from the internet, as they are much better than mine)

This morning I ran into a friend of mine at a gas station near work; basically the last place I would have expected to see him. It was kind of funny, because we were both in our work clothes, so we sort of did a simultaneous blink/doubletake. Probably wouldn't really be worth mentioning here, except that tonight on the way home, at another gas station, I ran into my next door neighbor's daughter; also, the last place I would have expected to see her, as it was several miles from where I/we live.

Apparently I have become a bit of a cat magnet. Yesterday a cute grey stray met me at the door, meowing, following me, and basically acting as though it was my cat. It even tried to climb up my leg, purring, and then tried to follow me into my apartment when I went to get it food. I fed it, but it was more interested in me than in the food; it ignored the food and followed me to my car. Aside from that, I have had four - yes, four- stray cats pop up on my patio, look in, and meow at me. The last one was absolutely adorable - it looked like a long haired, super-fluffy real-life version of Sylvester. Now, I have always known that cats know cat people, but this is getting a bit ridiculous. I don't know these cats! I've never seen these cats before! But they're like, congregating. I don't know. If my life were a Twilight Zone episode, tomorrow I would wake up as a mouse.

Work is trying to kill me. Tomorrow will be my third day off in as many weeks. I am officially burnt out. Shot. Fried. Drained. I plan to use the time wisely. I should relax, but I need to get some poetry sent out.

Ok, I'm a little early, but I won't be online tomorrow.

I am going to a solstice ritual tonight. It's a Finnish/Christmas theme. I am supposed to bring food along those lines (I'm going with crackers and smoked salmon spread). Aside from that, I really don't know what to expect, but I don't think it's going to get too crazy or anything. I'm going with two good friends, who know the people and all; I totally trust their judgement. I'm generally really not one for ceremony, but I do beleive in honoring the solstices and equinoxes, even if it's quietly. Christmas is great, but it's the solstice, to me at least, that feels sacred.

I have finally cracked open Norton's Anthology of World Masterpieces, a massive volume I paid all of fifty cents for at a thrift store. It's been sitting on my bookshelf taunting me for some time. (I have the 5th edition, if anyone is curious.) There are quite a few classics I've missed along the way, writers I keep hearing about but haven't read. In some cases, I just haven't gotten to them yet, but sooner or leter, I want to know what all the fuss is about. So I've been picking through it this week; read Madame Bovary, Voltaire, etc., etc. But Kafka is, so far, the author that has really blown me away. In The Metamorphasis, he made me, --me, possibly the most roach-a-phobic chick ever-- emphathize with a beetle. Feel bad for it. Even be sad when it died. That's powerful. That is a writer that can reach his hand out of the page and grab your emotions by the throat.

So now I needs me some more Kafka. I think I'm hooked.

music: Three Ships - Sting

So I accidentally - or rather, purposely, in a fit of, uh, something other than brilliance - decided that I had a preference for the Oxford Comma. Therefore I hit up the once-beloved search-and-replace feature on Word, and changed all of my 'and's to ', and's.'

STOOPID! STOOPID! STOOPID!

I needed some of those ands to just be ands. And now, because I did this universally on a 900-page file, I have no option but to go through them one by one.

Merging the file with another draft didn't help - I still had to hit every spot and either accept or delete the change.
Undoing it didn't help - that left me with all 'ands' and I still need ',and's

900 pages.
I have to fix this manually.
One. By. One.

Someone shoot me. Please.